Usually, writing these newsletters comes quite naturally to me, and when it doesn’t, it’s usually because I’m suffering from a general case of procrastination (or more likely that I can’t stop watching “Vanderpump Rules”). But, for the first time, an edition of One More Bite is genuinely hard for me to write. Last week, I chalked it up to the jetlag, but a week has gone by, it’s 8 p.m. and I’m still awake, and I’m going to lean into the discomfort of writing this one.
My week (and then some) in Taiwan was transformative, the type of trip that takes much more than a few days to process and then distill into content. And that’s probably why I've been so hesitant to write about it: I feel overwhelmed by the prospect of capturing such a big moment in my life in words that I know will never be enough, and I worry that if I dig too deeply within myself to try to capture the full emotional weight of this trip, I may inadvertently rip open old wounds whose scabs were just starting to form in Taiwan.
Both of my parents moved to the U.S. from Taiwan as young adults, probably around the age that I am now, and during the first part of my life, summers in Taiwan—the relentless heat and lack of friends to see and things to do—were a fact of life that I tolerated. Funnily enough, even in my pre-foodie days, the food was the best part of these visits home.
Home… how can a place that I’ve probably cumulatively spent a year in be home? And how is it possible that I can step foot into Taiwan after six years, into my grandparents’ homes, and feel it to be a completely natural occurrence, like walking into my apartment after a long work day? In Taiwan, I often felt that the life I’m building in New York is but a long dream, and now it’s only the photos on my phone that confirm that I did in fact go to Taiwan.
So, in the wake of the trip, I’m feeling the weight of the concept of home, and whatever the hell that means. Though not entirely separate from the concept, for my own sanity, I am going to chronicle all the lovely food I had, and leave the rest for me to process in my own time.
Nowhere else is it more true that breakfast is the most important meal of the day—important because it’s the one meal in a day that I’m able to obtain and eat my favorite Taiwanese foods. Any breakfast item with a cup of cold soymilk is heavenly, but a few favorites include 菜包 (steamed vegetable buns), 韭菜盒子 (chive pockets), 飯糰 (rice balls), 蛋餅 (egg pancakes), 燒餅 (a type of flatbread)... I could go on.
Breakfast is typically sold at stalls that line the streets in the morning, with many vendors setting up shop in front of their homes. This proved to be especially helpful in one instance: my mother had been talking up a place near her childhood home that sold steamed buns for months, possibly years. However, I was in Taiwan for Lunar New Year, the first few days of which everyone is usually off work, this steamed bun place included. We went three mornings in a row with the place being closed each time, but on the last day, my mother noticed that the sliding metal gate that covered the entrance to the store and the owner’s home was slightly open. So, with me standing in shock, my mother got on her hands and knees and called out to the store owner inside, who, when she came over to us and opened the gate, looked to be enjoying a quiet morning off from work.
In a true demonstration of my mother’s smooth-talking skills, she convinced the store owner to sell us refrigerated buns for us to steam at home, and while it was a thoroughly embarrassing process, the buns were incredible. Usually, I find that the dough of the bun takes a back seat to the filling, but in this instance the fluffy outer layer of each bun (we got vegetable and black sesame) outshone their interiors. I ate three and spoiled my lunch.
On my last day of my trip, my mother and I ventured out to get 燒餅 (shao bing) at a place that came highly recommended by my aunt. 阜杭豆漿 (Fu Hang Soy Milk) must have been highly recommended by literally everyone in Taipei’s aunt, because the line was a sight to behold when my mother and I showed up at 10 a.m. Determined to be unfazed, I convinced my mother that we should wait it out despite wasting precious minutes of my last day.
An hour later, I ordered their thick flatbread with scrambled eggs and 油條 (fried dough stick) and paired it with cold soymilk. It was absolutely heavenly: the 油條 (you tiao) with the most delicate shatter and satisfying crunch, while the fluffy, savory eggs scrambled with scallion paired perfectly with a slightly sweet flatbread. I promise you, it was not just the wait that made this meal so delicious, but it genuinely was the best traditional Taiwanese breakfast I’ve ever had.
Beyond the breakfasts, there’s so much more I want to tell you about… or even better, bring you with me to taste. My favorite Taiwanese non-breakfast food is beef noodle soup, and we went to 段純貞 (Duan Chun Zhen) and 清真中國牛肉麵食館 (Halal Chinese Beef Noodles in Da'an) and I got my fill of rich, spicy broth and beef that falls apart in your mouth. I got my fill of sweets (and somehow also taro) at many, many street stalls, and felt the satisfying crunch of biting into a 糖葫蘆 (tang hu lu). We ate at Din Tai Fung (duh!) and I realized that unfortunately the same dishes in Taiwan tasted much, much better. And finally, one evening in Taipei with cousins I haven’t seen in six years but had begun to feel like family again, we shivered in the evening chill and shared a massive portion of mango shaved ice from Smoothie House.
I only noticed after the tears had wet the sleeve of my sweatshirt that I was crying as I stood in line for the security screening at the airport. I don’t have any doubts about my family’s decision to build a life in the U.S., and I love the life I’ve started to build for myself in New York, and yet… It’s a big, big world out there, and it’s so damn special that I’ll always have another home waiting for me in Taiwan.